When Everything Is Blue(28)

“Machine wash. You can keep this one.”

“I’ll bring it back tomorrow, clean.”

“Fine,” he says, not wanting to argue with me about it.

I tell him goodbye and gallop down the stairs, exit his house just as my dad is pulling up to our driveway. He honks the horn because he’s said before he doesn’t want to deal with my mother, which I guess means knocking on the door and greeting her like a decent human being.

Tabs struts down our driveway like it’s a catwalk and claims the front seat of his Tahoe without question. I climb into the back. Dad reaches back to shake my hand, and I do it with what I hope is the right amount of pressure, even though it’s kind of weird to greet him after months of no contact with a handshake. Tabs kisses his cheek and calls him Daddy. It’s like she’s a grown woman at home, but when we get around my dad, she turns back into this little girl. Then I think, I’m probably not the only one who’s emotionally stunted because of his neglect. I make up my mind to do whatever I can to make the night go smoothly. Tabs deserves this.

Tabs keeps up the conversation on the way to the restaurant, thankfully. I sit in the back with my long legs stretched out, letting the cool air-conditioned air wash over me, and think about Chris tying my tie for me and all the other strangely intimate things we do for each other and wonder if that’s normal or if there might be something more behind it. It’s a constant cycle of reflection and self-doubt, which keeps my head spinning like a weather vane in a storm. I imagine a conversation between Chris and me would go something like this:

Me: Hey there, buddy, remember that time we jacked each other off?

Chris, suspiciously: Yeah, what about it?

Me: That was amazing, and I’d like to do that with you on the regular because, guess what, I’m gay and not only that, I’m in love with you and I have been for a while now.

Chris: I’m not gay.

Me:….

Chris: Why would you even think that? Do I seem gay to you? Wait, you like me? No, love me? What the….

“Pretty quiet back there,” my dad says, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

“Just enjoying the ride,” I respond lightly. I’ve got to get Chris out of my head. Hypnosis? Electroshock therapy? Lobotomy?

We arrive at the restaurant, and a valet takes the car. Dad tips him with a crisp bill, and I think, what a waste of money, because there’s a parking spot literally ten feet away. He could have paid me the money to park his car for him. Dad comments on my height now that we’re standing shoulder to shoulder. He’s pretty tall and I’ve finally caught up with him, which I guess makes me pretty tall as well. Everything is changing—my body, my emotions, my sanity. I wish it would all just slow the hell down and let me catch my breath.

“You two must have been busy this summer,” Dad says, trying to excuse his absence in our lives for the past six months, acknowledging without acknowledging how long it’s been since we last saw him. I would let that shit hang over us like a silent, brooding storm cloud, but not Tabs. As if on cue, she immediately starts filling him in on everything she’s been up to while I duck my head and follow them inside.

The restaurant is swanky and artfully lit, with high-end furniture and attractive servers. A model-looking hostess leads us to our table, and a server brings us waters almost immediately. Tabs fills the silence with idle chatter—maybe she’s nervous too. My dad orders a Coke instead of a drink, which is good. One of the rules of his visitation is that he doesn’t drink when we’re with him. My mom is strict about that.

“So, Theo,” Dad says rapping the table in front of me with his knuckles to get my attention, an irritating habit of his. “Your sister tells me you got a job.”

“Yeah, mowing lawns on the weekends.” Me and my squad, tearing up the neighborhood. Edging the shit out of Palm Beach’s lawns and keeping everyone legit with their HOA’s.

“Manual labor, huh?” The tone of his voice isn’t one of admiration for an honest day’s work, more like distaste. “You know, I could have gotten you a job at my office.”

Working for my dad sounds like one long, drawn-out panic attack. The few times I’ve been to his office, it’s this whole dog-and-pony show where my dad puts his arm around me and jokes around like we’re best buds in front of all his employees. How about those Dolphins, son? It’s the reason I stopped going to him to have my teeth cleaned—it felt fake as hell.

“It’s cool, Dad. I like being outside.”

“You’ve gotten pretty dark,” he says, like it’s a bad thing. My dad’s a little racist. So are my grandmother and Uncle Theo, for that matter. I’m not sure what he thought might happen when he impregnated a Puerto Rican. Maybe that his Aryan genes would be that powerful.

“The sun will do that,” I say.

“You could wear a long-sleeve shirt and a hat,” he says, like it’s a brilliant solution no one has ever thought of before. I’m tempted to tell him only middle-aged white dudes do that, but I hold my tongue.

My sister cuts in. “Theo’s saving up to buy a car.” I nudge her under the table. She kicks me back harder with the pointy toe of her shoe. Right in the shin. I hate it when she volunteers information about me to him. She’s probably angling for him to one-up me, which he does.